Kimber, what are those buttons for?
Well, this one washes big pots and pans, this one (now imagine trying to describe in minute detail to a four year old all the workings of your dishwasher, at five o'clock in the morning)
Well, then I don't have to wash them in the sink.
Can you read me the buttons again?
(Repeat, several times.)
What's this for?
That's a mixer.
What does it do?
It mixes things.
Whatever you want to put in it.
Oh, I get it, so whatever I want, I just turn it on, and it makes it.
Well, no, it's a mixer, not a maker.
What if you put a banana in it?
It would probably get mushy.
OH! (jumps on the couch) Like this cushion. How would a banana get as big as a cushion?
Mmmm. Well, mushy means soft and squishy and wet. Gooey.
Ooh. Yuck. Will this loaf of bread get mushy if you put it in?
What will happen?
It will turn to crumbs.
How do you know?
I just do.
Where's the kids?
In bed still.
They live here. This is where they sleep.
I'm their Mom. This is their house.
You're not a mom, you're a babysitter.
Why are you their mom?
Because I love them.
That's what Moms do. They love their kids.
But what about that big giant girl? Why are you her mom?
Wow. All I can say is, wow. He never stops. All day, why? Why? When? How? They say this is a sign of a scientific mind.
It amazes me how different children will act for their own parents. They can be angels (noisy, messy, obnoxious, but angels) all day and then their parent comes in the door and it is immediate meltdown. They want their shoes a certain way, or their socks unrolled or whatever it is, and they throw these gargantuan tantrums. Why is that? Do they just not trust me enough to be themselves here? Or do they just know I'm going to ignore the bad behavior? Not sure, but there are a few that really have their parent's numbers, I tell you what.